The Raven King: A RWBY Story
by BloodySir13
Summary: Exiled from their homeland, humans and Faunus alike are forced to adapt to the harsh conditions of the wilds. Some withered in the face of adversity, while others thrived in such dangers. The Black-Talon clan took much pride in tradition, wisdom, and strength. However, one day, the fate of the Black-Talon clan would be changed forever...
1. Author's Note

Hello there Ladies and Gentlemen I am the BloodySir and welcome to my first story! Sorry this isn't a chapter but I just gotta make some things clear. If I don't do this then I'm sure SOMEONE is going to yell at me for not including this; there is always that one asshole in a cesspit of feces and blood.  
-So I do not own RWBY or the characters in any fashion, nor do I claim to do so.  
-I do not claim rights to the artworks and music I sometimes will provide; they come mostly from Pinterest, but some will come from Google.  
-Besides RWBY, I weaved this book up from various inspirations which will remain anonymous for entertainment purposes. I do not own rights to the media which I gained inspiration for writing this, nor do I claim to do so.  
-If you find grammatical errors within my writing, please I ask that you be patient, since I do regular quality checks just because I am that paranoid.  
-If you have genuine advice, please let it out. This is my first time writing something like this, so I am still an amateur when it comes to this.  
-If you find my writing repulsive, unpleasant, or otherwise bad, go ahead and admit it. I can take a hit, so curse away! I just ask that once you're done ranting, you don't continue to complain.  
-Oh yea, SPOILERS! This isn't going to be a AU, I prefer to call it a UA, or Universe Alteration, where I will add some things but it will not change the general flow of the story. For now, there will be spoilers till the end of Season 3 (RIP Roman, Pyrrha, Penny, and my happiness), but when Season 4 comes out of October 22, I will be following the story on that part, but there will be some slight, alterations to say the least...  
-I highly, HIGHLY advise you watch RoosterTeeth's show RWBY to the third season first before reading. Besides spoilers, another reason why would be that I am not the perfect at describing people as some people are (I'm looking at you Chinsangan ), so it would be better if you already knew what the characters were before jumping in.  
That is all I wanted to say for now, and I hope that you enjoy the storytelling of the BloodySir!


	2. Part 1: Chapter 1: The Outsider

Amber' P.O.V.:

I got lost again, deciding that I needed to cool off instead of destroying Vale after an useless argument. Now, I have no idea where I am, all that I do know is that I am north of Vale, but precisely where is honestly beyond me. It was getting dark outside; I have been lost for three days, eating nothing except berries and fruit which I deemed edible. I laid my staff on the soil beside me, trying to find cool, yet dry grass to sleep upon. After about five minutes of prodding the ground, I decided where it would be best to sleep. I closed my eyes, and let my mind fade away.  
I should have known that this area was not safe, although I probably should completely blame myself in this predicament. A pack of beowulves and Ursai tracked me here; normally I could take them on no problem, but sleep can be your enemy is some situations. I could not fight, nor run, nor yell. Grimm were about to feast upon my flesh, and leave the rest of me to rot in the sun. Closing my eyes, I hesitantly accepted my fate, but death never came.  
Almost a split-second after I closed my eyes, I heard an ear-splitting shriek of three beowulves collapsing to the ground before me, and the two closest Ursai followed in turn. I did not know what was happening; the light from my campfire was gone, and whatever was killing them was beyond my ability to see. The red ichor of the Grimm dampened the ground and gave off a pungent stench in the air. All I saw was a glimpse of a person slaughtering beasts one by one until us two were the only ones in the night. He turned to glance at me, still obscured by shadow, and put away his weapons, which so easily dispatched the attackers. After what seemed like years of silence and cricket chirps, I stepped forward and spoke out to the person.  
"I thank you for your kind assistance, stranger. If it was not for your arrival, I would have served as a great feast, heh." I glanced down to expect to see ashes as expected from dead Grimm corpses, but the mutilated bodies still lied on the ground everywhere.  
"I should thank you in turn, outsider. I was growing hungry, and my Grimm bait was not working as intended. This will certainly feed me for a week, if not two and a half. " the person had a male voice, and was definitely in his younger years, at least younger than me. The man stepped forward, and I could see his attire.  
If somebody told me that he spent his his youth as a wild hunter, I would believe them. His body was covered in hides and cloaks made of several Grimm: Ursas, alpha beowulves, and even a small Nevermore skull on his left shoulder. Feathers and hides served as his coat protection, while he wore a full alpha Beowulf pelt to cover his back and head*. What I also noticed was that he wore what seemed like a blindfold, but was oddly decorated. Although that was odd enough, what was most bizarre was his weapons; they were sort of warglaives, with serrated edges, ornate decorations of gold and silver on the circular cover-hilt, and smoky black blades**. They were meant to bleed, and they were meant to kill anything, and anyone. That is when I realized: He was one of the exiled warriors.  
He stepped forward again and started to say something, but I quickly grabbed my staff and pointed it at the person before me.  
"Stay where you are! I have nothing for you to take! I-" I was interrupted by the gruff voice of the exiled man.  
"Calm yourself, outsider. I will not kill you today, not while you are weak and tired. That is not my way, nor the way of the Black-Talons. Now tell me, where is it that you come from?" I debated responding to the youth. The exiled have grown both strong and cunning, and they have NO love for those in the cities. Then again, this person does seem genuine in his intentions, and his aura does not betray him. After a minute, I hesitantly laid my staff on the ground.  
"V-Vale, sorry for my outburst, I just can be a little paranoid at times, hehe. I have heard rumors about the exiled, and what they do..." I soon trailed off to a whisper. The boy grabbed a giant Beowulf with what seemed like minimal strength, and brought it to the remains of the campfire.  
"You are lost, I presume?" In response I just nodded slowly.  
"Well in that case, I suppose I could get you back to Vale, it is only about a four day trek by walking, but should be only two and a half by Beowulf." I perked up my ears at this, and started to inquire, until he told me to rest. As much as I tried to keep my eyes open, my sight slowly faded to darkness.  
I awoke to the sound of sizzling meat and crackling flame. I opened my eyes to see the same man from last night, feeding an alpha Beowulf a chunk of meat. The beast was armored with contorted bone and black metal, as well as sacks of what seemed like provisions.  
"Ah, so you are awake at last, I was about to wake you myself; get yourself ready, we leave in five minutes." I did not ask the Grimm tamer, but nodded and went to a nearby river to gather water. Afterwards, I ran back to the campsite, where the man rode the Grimm and told me to get on.  
If there is going to be anything that I take from this experience, it is that Beowulves can be really fucking fast. The dense forest was no problem for the agility and speed of the beowulf, even with two people and supplies. The only noticeable things in the shrubbery and the trees were planted sparse sleeping Ursa cubs with a matriarch. It was not long before night fell once more, and the man decided to set up camp in a cave by a waterfall. I dismounted from the ferocious creature, and followed him to the cavern.  
"We are going to need a fire, miss. Go find kindling and firestarters; I already have the firewood." He stated and pulled logs from one of the packs of the Beowulf. Getting the supplies was easy, for it was winter, and under packs of snow were assorted leaves and twigs, and although it required a bit of drying, it was not an issue. After bundling up the materials, I made my way back to the campsite, to see a sleeping Beowulf snoring alongside the exiled marauder, who was singing a hymn while sharpening his glaives. He glanced up at me, and gestured to lay the kindling down in the patch of ground in front of him, and then he started to create a tent-style fire.  
Night was descending upon us both, and the shadows were encroaching in the encampment of light; the sound of silence was making me go mad, and I had to say something.  
"What is your name?" He was quiet for a minute, and I thought he was not going to answer, but then he looked up from the flame.  
"I go by Draktherin, though that is not my name." At this I immediately wanted to inquire more, but he gave me that look to go sleep and rest, before spurting out more questions again. The sleeping bag formed from an Ursa skin was soft and dense, strangely close to a chinchilla. Before long, I let sleep take over once again.  
I woke up to yelling, and immediately stood up and grabbed my staff. Draktherin, or so he was called, was not in the adjacent sleeping bag, so I went out of the cave to see him surrounded by other exiled warriors.  
"SOFT!" "HARBORING AN OUTSIDER!" "KILL HIM!" Were the many uttering of about twenty people surrounding Draktherin, who had his glaives out and prepared to reap blood. Then, after a minute of yelling, a huge, burly man, wearing nothing but tattoos , breeches made of skin and bone, and an iron belt was walking towards Draktherin with two serrated and enormous axes. At last, the mountain of a man spoke in a low growl.  
"Dush mal-ah, Draktherin. Why do you protect an outsider in the name of Black-Talon clan?" The man pointed an axe to his skull, rage in his eyes and glaring his teeth, making it obvious of his Faunus heritage.  
"Dush mal-ah, Segrush. This wanderer is of no harm to us, neither War-Claw or Black-Talon, so I will stand by to see her gutted like a pig!" Draktherin responded in a low tone, then stepped forward towards Segrush. Does everyone introduce others in titles?  
"Then I as leader of this war-band, commence Gara-Mok, Draktherin!" Segrush stated with ample venom in his voice. All Draktherin did was nod, and stepped forward, starting what seemed like a duel. Both warriors raised their weapons, and ran towards their opponent.  
Segrush sprinted at Draktherin, with his bulky mass and fast speed to rush his enemy. Draktherin ran too, but he was worlds faster, managed to roll under a war-axe swung at his gut. Segrush swore to himself, at not only realizing he missed. But seeing a large gash across his right leg. Despite this, he rushed Draktherin again, swinging his blades at full force. Halfway to Draktherin, a glaive was thrown at his leg and cleanly severed the thigh from his foreleg; his lower body was drenched in his red blood, and forced him to crawl. He himself was screaming, roaring in agony, and Draktherin plunged his second glaive into his ribcage, puncturing his left lung, then he grabbed the thrown glaive and chopped his head off, blood spewing from the neck. The body that once was Segrush slumped to the ground, and the crowd watched in silence. I could not believe what my eyes told me.  
Then, out of nowhere, an arrow pierced Draktherin's leg, and another shot went through his arm. Archers and assassins were among the awestruck war party, and were about to kill the man. I ran and activated the power of the maidens.  
The power I unleashed horrified the crowd, who looked beyond wonder of myself levitating off the ground, eyes giving off a radiant orange light. The would be killers were then also struck with terror, and the whole party ran. Draktherin was still pulling the arrows from his body, not minding the blood seeping from the wounds.  
"Well then, miss-"  
"Amber." I interrupted Draktherin, but his stoic expression never wavered.  
"Well then, Amber, we had best get moving, or they will be back." Draktherin looked at me, then to the Beowulf now walking out of the cave. We both mounted the creature, and set forth towards vale again. Hours past, and silence encroached, before this time, it was Draktherin who broke silence.  
"I had only heard rumors, whisperings of the wind and seas, of the existence of the maidens, I had not imagined that I would encounter one in person." He spoke with a matter-of-fact tone.  
"Yea. So those stories are still told in the wilds?" I inquired, still curious about their existence. He nodded, and after long, we reached the emerald forest behind beacon.  
"We are close by your kingdom, and now I must advise you do not enter the wilds unprotected again, not all people are merciful, as you saw before." I nodded this time, and we were at the cliffside. As I was about to go back, Draktherin stopped me.  
"Draktherin, means Voidwalker. That is my title." He stated, and then I went back to beacon despite my shocked and frightened expression, and ran to Ozpin's office. He needs to know who I found.

-  
*Like what Durotan wears in WOW and Warcraft movie, except it is a Grimm pelt.  
**Like the twin glaives of Azzinoth from WOW (what Illidan has)


	3. Chapter 2: Grey like Ashes

Grey like ashes of raging flame,  
embers within the dark cloak.

Third Person P.O.V.:

Shadowstrider and Draktherin rode back to the waterfall cave they inhabited earlier, and gathered the supplies they left behind escaping the bloodthirsty war-band of War-Claws. It was not much, just a few logs of wood, flint, and pieces of cloth for cleaning wounds. His blindfold starting to itch, and underneath he could feel his scar alongside his eyes and face, reminder to be wary of traces of arrogance, or you will pay a price you are not ready to make. Draktherin walked over to the corpse of what was Segrush; which seemed odd for the War-Claws, who would not leave a body to rot.  
"Hmm. They must have been out for us if they forgot him." The man muttered before searching his corpse for provisions. A compass, flammable cloth, crossbow, and charcoal. Nothing really stood out except the compass, which was needed for his future travels, and the fact that he needed one to get back home.  
"Finally, after six years of the barren wilds, I will be ready to go back home. Back to father, and mother." Nothing hurt more, made his heart ache more, then having to leave his parents, and the comfort of their being. But hey, comfort is the obstacle in the way of adventure, right? He thought of this, his time and his parents, the shamans of the tribe, the bonding moments of making his glaives with his father. All this created a comforting dream as he sleep peacefully, for once in his life.  
He woke up before sunrise, as he wished, and snuffed out the fire he created last night.  
"Shadowstrider, let's go we need to get a move on before sunrise." Draktherin said in a low whisper, and the large Beowulf roused from her slumber, making a almost incomprehensible sound almost like a yawn. Draktherin searched his pack for his imprinted map, marked, tarnished and muddled by six years of use. The camp Lok-Taral was about fours days away by Beowulf, according to his markings, and and there was a large Blood-Feather encampment in the way, about two and a half days away from the waterfall cave. Draktherin silently cursed to himself, and retrieved the scavenged compass to get a sense of direction.  
"Fours days to the northeast, with BloodFeather stronghold in my path, and with no telling how big the base is, I guess I'm going to need to sneak inside." The man sighed before packing the rest of his things. After all, it was going to be a long ride, with no salvation or help, but he survived six years with no help, why would he need it now? He kept this mantra as he began riding towards the oupost of the Blood-Feathers. The shadows kept whispering to him, arguing in his head, and giving him a writhing headache until he he set up camp in a hidden pile of rubble once belonging to ruins. During his travels, one of the things he learned was that you do not set camp in high ground when you are trying no to be caught. Out of sight, out of mind, and people do not really pay attention to what is below them, rather to what is in front or above them. Idiots.  
After again snuffing a fire and setting off, he found the encampment, which had obviously grew since he last saw it. It grew from a simple dust mine and towers to a whole fortress, with guards and hunters patrolling. He swore to himself again, before going to what seemed like a hole of a sewer system. Although the exiled were in tune with their instinctual nature, they do have some technologies with them.  
Draktherin and Shadowstrider wandered to the sewer hole, and inspected the inner workings. They appeared to have just finished the system, and as prideful as the Blood-Feathers were, saw it as perfect as could be. There was nobody patrolling the sewers, and nothing inhabiting except some rats and other pestilence. He decided to rest here until the first minute of dawn, where the entire clan would be struggling to awake, and sprint until out of view.  
The sleep was quick, and quite unfulfilling, but had to do, for sunlight was quickly approaching the two Black-Talons, and they had no time to waste. He left nothing but almost rotting food, and set off toward Lok-Taral. Thank the Gods the guards were nowhere to be found, or else he would be killed on the spot, or worse. It seemed like things were going good for once, and maybe he would go back to his clan unscathed and victorious, unlike most who return.  
Or so he thought. He was tracked to a clearing in the snowy woods, and a war-band found him and encircled him. He expected to have been found by a wandering Blood-Feather party, but the aura that they gave off were of War-Claws. Pissed off War-Claws. Draktherin swore yet again, and pulled out his warglaives.  
"It seems you rabble are angry about something. Let me end you here and now, and maybe you won't suffer." Draktherin spoke to the bloodthirsty warriors, knowing his clan was so close, he could smell it. Many warriors, sounded like five at most, dismounted their beasts and walked in his direction, before pulling out their maces, axes, and swords, and sprung towards the lone warrior. To him, they were as predictable as they were clumsy, and leaped out of the way before their blows connected with flesh.  
Before the faster three of the five warriors could lunge again, Draktherin unsheathed his glaives and got into his fighting stance, and sprinted towards the now surprised group of ambushers. Keeping a stone facade, Draktherin leaped into the air and threw one of his weapons at the five attackers, upon hearing flesh tear and bone crack, the Black-Talon smiled a devilish grin, and caught his glaive as it flew back to him. He guessed he succeeded in killing two in one bout, with the rest of the berserkers yelling and charging, he had just raised hell.  
The most disfigured, and rage-filled of them all was Gogresh, brother to Segrush. War hammer in hand, he swept forward to crush Draktherin with the head of the hammer, forged into the likeness of an Ursa skull. With all the rage in his heart, he slammed the war hammer at Draktherin, only to kick up snow and rock. Draktherin strafed to the side, and ran to the onlookers who previously attacked him during their first encounter, and dodged their bows and left them bleeding out from severed limbs and slit throats. He turned to the four warriors left besides Gogresh, to see them rallying themselves with bloodlust, but their auras reeked of despair and hate. Draktherin charged at them, clashing blades with one of the War-Claws, who seethed a spiteful aura. The Black-Talon grinned, and tripped the warrior and severed him by the waist, blood leaking out of both ends. Without giving them chance to recover, Draktherin lunged at the remaining berserkers still struck with fear, and covered them in lacerations, from the wrist, elbows, toes, legs, thighs, and gut.  
Gogresh watch in pure horror and disgust as he saw his brothers so easily cut down. Picking up his war hammer again, he roared in outrage.  
"You are nothing more than a demon, Draktherin! Something that should not exist in this world, or the next!" Gogresh bellowed, as he charged towards the man again, as before, his attack led to nothing more than a hammer stuck in the ground, and a blade in his foreleg. His rage filled his thoughts of ones with strewn guts and blood, and he lifted his hammer to fight the man once more.  
Before Gogresh could even start running, Draktherin took to the air and threw both of his blades, then lunged, claws ready to seek blood. Gogresh fell right into the trap.  
As soon as Gogresh took one thundering step, both glaives plunged themselves deeply into his thighs, and brung them to the now red snow. All he could do was wait for the end of his torment.  
"You will bleed out, that is for sure. Now, is there anything you want to tell me, as what went through your mind when you thought you could kill a demon, or so you call me?" Draktherin spoke with a flat tone, and all Gogresh could do was spit.  
"Piss off, you rotten sack of horseshit." Gogresh laughed weakly, before Draktherin pulled the glaives back to their place, and cut Gogresh's throat.  
"Well then, that was an interesting choice of words, may that echo in your soul for eternity, or whatever the saying is." Draktherin muttered to himself, before finding Shadowstrider once again, mere minutes from Lok-Taral, and to his family. He mounted the Beowulf again, and sprinted until he found a gate, and not long before he could hear the flapping banners of Black-Talon.  
"OPEN THE GATES! A WARRIOR HAS RETURNED FROM THE TRIALS!" A guard said, before having the wooden gates, reinforced with iron, was pulled up by pulleys and levers, and a crowd came to see the man. He heard many muttering and whispers.  
"Is that Draktherin?" "Hells Bells, it is! Get the shamans!"  
Before long, he found the shaman huts, and strides there on what seemed like wind itself.  
"Ah, so you have returned to us at last, we have had need of you." The eldest, Brevarian, remarked before walking up to Draktherin and gesturing for him dismounted.  
"I guess you have mastered your... Gift, and your weapons of choice in war?" Brevarian spoke in a raspy tone.  
"Yes, I have, in ways once thought unimaginable. Now, where is father, is he tending to his duties as Warchief?" Draktherin half-lied, and in saying this, Brevarian and the other shamans adopted a solemn look.  
"Your father, and your mother as well, were slain by a War-Claw ambushing party a while back. I am regrettably sorry, but you are now warchief, Y/N Draktherin, of the Black-Talon clan.


	4. Chapter 3: The Wolf and The Bull

Author's note; I will not try to do much changes in perspectives (P.O.V. Changes) because in my opinion it can disrupt the flow of the story if not done correctly, but there will be moments where multiple changes will occur in the same chapter, because I feel it can be needed to supplement the story. Now for your regularly scheduled programming.

Blake Belladonna's P.O.V.:

I walked towards the White Fang camp, seeing warriors train, sharpen edges, and talk about their lives near a campfire, until they all saw me. The entire camp went silent; this must have been serious.  
"Miss, Taurus awaits you in the central tent." One of the soldiers came up to me and escorted me to the main tent, and left without a word. I opened up the tent, and saw Adam Taurus staring blankly at the ground, then at me.  
"Hello Blake." Adam greeted, with a tone of contentment, and pulled up a chair across from his own, gesturing me to sit.  
"Whatever you called me in for, it must be serious. Care to explain?" I inquired, Adam nodded and grabbed a map containing the area surrounding Vale. He pointed to a particular spot on the map just east of where we were at the moment.  
"Do you remember the Schnee mine we took a few weeks back?" At this I nodded, and he continued.  
"Well, the shipments from that mine are supposed to come here after  
extraction, but during transport, all cargo and convoys disappear with nobody to tell the tale. We are going to figure out who is raiding our trucks, and stop them." Adam explained. "Any questions?"  
"Have you tried sending in bullheads? I asked, concerned about the whereabouts of our cargo, and bubbling up with questions.  
"Yes, once, and it did not change a thing; not to mention our bullhead supply is scarce as it is. Get some rest, for we leave before dawn." I nodded before leaving to my own designated tent. There were a few questions swimming through my mind as I slept. It could not have been Atlas military, for they would have been hard-pressed on getting the mine, intsead of just taking the shipments, but the attacks seem too powerful and thought-out to be enacted by some renegade bandits. There was only one way to find out for sure what was attacking our mine shipments.  
Morning came too early, and even earlier was our wake-up call, but I signed up for this for an end goal, and whatever it takes to achieve peace and equality, it is a price worth paying, even sleep. Adam waited with some five elite soldiers with a truck holding some armaments. Adam looked anxious and was walking in circle, while the rest of the soldiers where chatting about something, seemed like they found a cool black katana off the side of the road, besides a corpse of a samurai guy or something.  
"Are you ready to go, Blake?" Adam asked while getting his weapon out of his bag. I nodded, and Adam gestured for the truck to start moving at a slow pace towards the mine. Anyone who would ambush us would find us surprisingly armed and not to be easily trifled with. That being said, I remain cautious, for we do not even though who our enemy is, and if they are smart, they will intend to keep it that way.  
Without further ado, we started on our drive to the mine, and the snowy terrain was almost mesmerizing to the eyes, with white snow like a thick layer, a blanket over the surface of northern Remnant. Many people come to hide behind the walls of the Kingdoms, but the lifestyle beyond Vale, or Mistral, or Vacuo, was something elegant, with unaltered landscapes and creatures. It-  
The first car with me and Adam rolled and tumbled, before crashing into trees at the side of the trail. The truck soon followed, rolling, and breaking just like ours, but landed in the middle of the path, blocking our way. We were all dazed and confused, before we heard a thundering war-cry, and a yell.  
"SLAUGHTER THE SCHNEE INTRUDERS! MAKE SURE THEY KNOW TO FEAR THE WILDS! FOR THE HONOR OF THE BLACK-TALON CLAN!" Damn it. It was an ambush, and our weapons were likely destroyed by the traps laid out against us. Out came several iron-clad warriors, carrying spears, axes, cleavers, and flails, and pointing at the car we were getting out of still disoriented by the event. Well now we know that they definitely hate Atlas military, but we still are prey in their eyes. The attackers were built for war, resembling gladiators in an arena, along with their tribal wear of cloths and furs, making unsure if we would survive to see who was in charge.  
"Blake, get up! You are not dying on my watch!" Adam nearly screamed, pulling me out of the wreckage, I saw the bandits surrounding the wreckage of both the truck and the car. They were waiting for us to fight, instead of just finishing the job. As soon as we unsheathed our weapons, they roared and charged.  
Most of our men were overcome at once, still dazed to fight the warmongering natives, but Adam and I fought on. The sounds of the forests were drowned in the symphony of clashing blades and thundering shouts. They fought like nobody else we have seen before, for their weapons were contorted and twisted, and their vigor was endless, only to be matched by their ferocity. No matter how many times we strike at them, they just kept coming with more fury in their hearts, and before long, our fight turned into a losing one. There were no stopping them. Before long, I collapsed from exhaustion, but before my adversary could gut me, another road was heard.  
"THESE WARRIORS ARE NOT ATLAS OR SCHNEE! DO NOT KILL THEM YET." Before I could do anything else, I was bound and saw Adam facing against the biggest of them all, with the rest of the warriors muttering: "Gara-Mok." I tried to get up and help Adam, but my wounds and the rope that kept me was too much struggle to bear, and all I could do was watch the two warriors fight.  
The war-party leader roared, and charged at Adam, but he rolled and evaded the giant war-axe being swung at his skull. Adam lunged at the warrior, but he parried his strike and created an attack of his own. This went on for a minute or so, before the leader threw his axe at Adam, only to find nothing but a sword in his stomach. Blood and aura oozed from the wound, and he could not fight for any longer. He kneeled down in his final breaths, and bowed, before stumbling into the ground, blood saturating the soil. The whole party was silent, but still kept me bound. Out of the blue, two men riding upon beowulves were approaching my awestruck partner. When another of the attacking force went to speak with the reinforcements, one old man nodded, and walked toward Adam.

Adam's P.O.V.:  
I stood there, dumbstruck at what had just transpired. The man I killed was not exactly the hardest opponent I faced, but he was still more trained than any normal Atlas soldier, so who are these guys and why were they attacking us? It was not long before one of the two Beowulf-riding men came up to me.  
"You will come with us, warrior. Our Warchief wishes to speak with you." The man spoke in a raspy tone, giving away his age.  
"Warchief? And if I refuse?" I commented with slight venom in my voice. At that, I saw a man place a blade against Blake's neck, and archers aiming for mine.  
"We do not plan to attack you again; not in this state at least. I am ordered to bring you to my Warchief, so it is not like I am going to give you much choice." The old man stated. I suppose that it could not be that bad, I could find some answers and if they are all like the war-band leader on the floor, it should not be impossible to kill them. If they can bleed, they can die.  
"Only if she comes with me." I requested, and the old man nodded and gestured for us to follow them. Our former attackers went a different route; muttering and whispering to one another.  
"So where is the Warchief at this time?" Blake asked, avoiding the tree branches and the vines.  
"Warchief Draktherin is not far, a few minutes from where we are, which is near a recently opened Schnee mine. He has sent a war-party to kill all personnel and free all prisoners, with himself as war-band leader." The old man whispered, and we all went wide-eyed. He also hated the Schnees, but for what reason?  
"Why has he started attacking both Schnee and Atlas military personnel?" I inquired, making no effort to hide my curiosity.  
"I think the reasons should be uttered from his voice, so you will have to wait." The old man muttered, before picking up the pace. It was not long before we found a Schnee mine, almost completely undetectable by normal means. There were fires in several spots in the mine and extraction field. We could see others roaring in celebration as they hugged and unchained what seemed to be Faunus slaves. We found a large burly man at the entrance of the cavern, and the old man who guided us here spoke with the guard.  
"Brevarian, where is your assigned war-party?" The guard spat, wielding a halberd in hand.  
"They dissipated after their war leader was killed in honorable battle." The sage man responded, pointing a staff at me. The guard scowled, and grunted softly.  
"Very well then, you three may pass to see the Warchief, just follow the screaming of pathetic whelps to find him." We were allowed access, and entered the cavernous mine. Before long, we heard the screaming of a man, somewhere in his thirties. We started running and kept hearing more screams of agony and despair, until finally, we found the source. There were several Schnee executives and employees lined up while bound by chains. Towering over them, was a hooded man draped in robes, holding warglaives and an employee by his throat.  
"PLEASE! RELEASE ME, AND I WILL GIVE YOU ANYTHING YOU WANT! MONEY, DUST, WOMEN JUST NAME IT!" The employee shrieked to the top of his lungs, now burning from all the screaming.  
"I want my brothers back, they look something like this." The hooded man revealed his head and face, to show a wolf Faunus glaring fangs at the terrified victim. His eyes were covered by a blindfold, and he wore a cloak of black furs and feathers, and adorned additionally with Grimm skulls and some plating. He payed no attention to us, and kept on executing the squirming victims. There was a lot of blood, yelling, and screaming. As soon as the screaming ceased, Brevarian stepped up and spoke.  
"Warchief Draktherin, by your order made on the summer solstice, I have brought forth individuals that have killed the leader of our hunting party; Grim Hellsong." Draktherin turned his head, then let out a small chuckle before pointing at the cave entrance.  
"Brevarian, leave us. You have done well." At this Brevarian went skittering off. This left me, Blake, and the bloodied figure they call Warchief. The silence was deafening as he started to scan us without use of eyes; his blindfold still covering his ability to see. Upon closer inspection you can see his wolf ears and features, but he was head to toe in scars of several sizes and shapes. In addition, he appeared to be about Blake's age, if not younger, yet he showed no remorse or regret whilst killing the prisoners. After inspecting us, he gestured for us to sit on the ground. He soon followed and looked at us once more.  
"You look a little young to be a leader of hundreds of marauders." I joked.  
I expected him to get angry or at least flare up, but he kept that exact same stoic expression he had when he murdered the Schnee executives, which are still in the room.  
"I get that a lot; mostly from Atlas military personnel before I cut their heads off." He said in such a matter-of-fact tone, that it got me on edge. There was a minute before he continued.  
"Hellsong was a great warrior, but proud and destructive. How is it that a city-dweller managed to fell him?" Draktherin tilted his head in my direction, expecting me to answer.  
"Though your warrior was strong, he was faster and more adept with a blade, and was able to give him a proper death." Blake responded, only to have Draktherin focus his attention on her, before looking at the cavern ceiling.  
"I suppose that will suffice as an answer. Well, why were you in our lands? Have the kingdom not told you traders and alike to not go in these lands if you wish to live?" Draktherin inquired, looking at the once scream filled bodies of the Shnee employees.  
"The White Fang wished to find whoever was attacking our dust shipments and come to a conclusion." I said staring at the blindfold that hid his eyes.  
"I am not familiar with the 'White Fang,' warrior." Draktherin said with a curious tone, but face never changed from its usual state.  
"We are a Faunus movement with the intent to free Vale and the surrounding Kingdoms from the oppression upon the Faunus population. By the looks of this outcome of your raid, you have the same goals as well?" I stated with a defiant tone, as if I was speaking with general Ironwood himself. It was a minute before Draktherin decided to reply; properly filtering the information I had just expressed.  
"The chains of oppression are upon us all, warrior; all men, women, humans, and Faunus. I am simply ridding these lands of one form of oppression that has cursed this land, and killing off those who support the disgusting display of slavery." Draktherin glanced again at the pile of corpses, and spat in their direction.  
"Your men mentioned something about your brothers. What was that about?" Blake chirped, before I gestured for her to stay silent please. Draktherin sat back down.  
"Blood is one of the strongest bonds, next to adversity and experience. To have them taken away from you, would surely inspire chaos and malice to rise in your hearts, would they not?" Draktherin said before he stood up and continued.  
"Warrior, I am blind, but that does not mean I do not see that you and your White Fang can prove to be a worthy ally. What is your name?" I stood up with him, and shook his hand with a firm grip.  
"My name is Adam Taurus, and this is Blake Belladonna." I gestured for Blake to stand upright, and she did so.  
"Those who are under my command know me as Draktherin, but you will know me as Y/N. Let us get up before the stench gets unbearable even for my senses." I do not know what to make of Y/N: his wisdom surpasses most that he has met, yet he exudes an aura or strength and war. He will either make for a powerful ally or an unstoppable enemy.


End file.
